


zero-sum coffee break

by deadlights (eurythmix)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Coffee Snob, First Kiss, Gratuitous Game Theory Metaphors, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22586047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurythmix/pseuds/deadlights
Summary: When Eddie had moved to New York, the Starbucks on Madison avenue was under review after a salmonella outbreak. It had been three years and Beverly told him he was just being paranoid, but sure, blame him for being neurotic when a faulty display fridge gave ninety people gastroenteritis. Eddie had seven sick days accumulated at work; he wasn’t going to jeopardise them for cheaper coffee within walking distance of his apartment.At least, he wasn’t until the independent café off 88th filed for bankruptcy.Eddie falls easily and falls hard. Richie wants to climb that neurotic little bastard like a very small tree. Beverly should probably go to a therapist instead of playing matchmaker, but nobody's perfect.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 302





	zero-sum coffee break

**Author's Note:**

> as a former café employee richie's behaviour is absolutely bonkers fuckin yonkers, but this is fic, so anything goes

When Eddie had moved to New York, the Starbucks on Madison avenue was under review after a salmonella outbreak. It had been three years and Beverly told him he was just being paranoid, but sure, blame _him_ for being neurotic when a faulty display fridge gave ninety people gastroenteritis. Eddie had seven sick days accumulated at work; he wasn’t going to jeopardise them for cheaper coffee within walking distance of his apartment.

At least, he wasn’t until the independent café off 88th filed for bankruptcy.

Apparently, in addition to being their favourite customer, he was one of their _only_ customers; the business had been failing for months and Jeri, the no-nonsense owner-cum-barista, had kept tight-lipped on the whole affair. Eddie offered to look over the liquidation paperwork _pro bono_ , but Jeri’s wife had already contracted a separate firm to handle the accounts. There was nothing left for him to do except find another coffee shop that could hold a flame to Jeri’s ristrettos. 

“This is _Starbucks_ ,” he said for the umpteenth time, letting Bev pull him through the doorway. It wasn’t out of magnanimity; the morning’s high had been a blustery 40 and standards or not, Eddie was starting to lose feeling in his fingers. "I doubt they even know the difference between Arabica and Robusta.”

Bev turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Do you?”

“That's not the point,” Eddie argued. His cheeks must have been flushed pink from the sudden change in temperature, not for any other reason. “The point is —”

“ _The point is_ that you’re too stubborn for your own good, and I need the sugariest, most ridiculous holiday-themed drink available." Bev opened her wallet and plucked her credit card from its depths. “Now shut up and tell me what you want.”

Eddie huffed. “Americano,” he replied without looking up at the menu. Despite the pleasant warmth, everything about the store was getting on his nerves - the cluster of tourists hogging the leather armchairs, the seemingly endless line, the obnoxious laughter of the cashier. “A big one. Whatever they call it.”

“Trenta?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You know,” Beverly said, stepping up to the register, “just because you have the job of a forty-year old divorcee, doesn’t mean you have to drink your coffee like one.”

There was a sudden snort of amusement and Eddie’s head whipped around to glare at its origin. It was the cashier, a tall man with a grin so wide it was like Bev had just delivered the punchline to a one-woman show at Radio City Music Hall. Eddie hated him immediately.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” 

The cashier, whose lopsided name badge labelled him as Mike, snorted again. “You, dude. Anyone who gets dunked on that hard by Bev here has got to be a real firecracker.”

“You _know_ him?” Eddie turned to Bev, betrayed. To her credit, she only looked mildly pleased with herself. 

“Eddie, this is Richie. Play nice.”

Eddie ignored her in favour of scrutinising the man in front of him. “Who the fuck is Mike then?”

The cashier frowned momentarily, before glancing down. He looked back up at Eddie with that irritatingly broad smile. “Oh, yeah, Mike’s a buddy who works here. I dropped my badge in the blender last week. Management is taking their time getting me a new one this time ‘round.”

“ _This time_?”

“Anyway,” Bev interrupted, “I’ll get the eggnog latte, and Eddie will get his boring old man coffee like the boring old man he is.”

“I’m younger than you,” Eddie hissed. 

Thankfully, Richie seemed to be doing his job for once. “Venti, Bevvie?” He grabbed the cup without waiting for her answer, scribbling her name on the side. It was a familiar thing, the kind of unspoken knowledge that comes from being a regular, and Eddie knew it well from those three years with Jeri. The casual connection between Richie and Bev felt even more natural, and Eddie had the briefest flash of them in his mind’s eye, crashed out on Bev’s couch after a movie night, Richie’s head resting on her thigh. 

And, okay, maybe the flush in his cheeks wasn’t because of the heating this time.

Beverly paid and tugged him down to the other end of the counter. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” she said, shoving her wallet back in her bag. She adjusted her beanie in the reflective exterior of the coffee machine and continued. “Richie and I went to UCLA together. I only found out he was in New York last month when he accepted the alumni meet-up invite on Facebook.”

Eddie reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He went to UCLA and now he works in a Starbucks?” 

She smiled at him fondly. “You’re a real prick, you know that?” She paused and turned back to look at Richie, now cracking jokes with the old man who was behind them in the line. “And so is he. You’re kind of perfect for each other.”

“What?”

Bev froze. “Uh,” she said, eyes comically wide. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Beverly,” Eddie said slowly, “are you trying to set me up with your barista?”

Whatever excuse she could have come up with was swallowed by a polite voice calling her name. Her face lit up with relief and she scuttled from Eddie to the gentle giant of a man handing her two large cups over the counter. “Thanks, Ben,” she said, and turned back to Eddie before she could see the soft tilt of Ben’s lips.

Eddie snatched his Americano and used his free hand to point at Bev’s rapidly retreating back. “I’m not done with you, Marsh.”

“I plead the fifth,” she retorted, weaving through the mass of customers to the door. She pushed it open with her shoulder and started off down the street without waiting for Eddie to keep up. “And besides,” she added as they cleared the entry, “would it really be such a bad thing?”

Eddie grimaced. “With him? Yeah.” He raised the cup to his mouth and took a cautious sip. It was far too hot, of course, but he needed something to do with his hands as Beverly shot him a scrutinizing look. He was fully prepared to outline exactly why being set up with a total stranger was a bad idea when something caught his eye — his name written on the cup in huge, swirling letters, encased with an enormous heart. Several smaller hearts surrounded it, along with a crudely drawn kissy face emoji. “Oh, come on.”

“You seriously didn’t notice him drawing that?” Bev laughed, taking a sip of her own drink. 

“I was preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied by Richie?”

“Yes.” He paused. “No. Not like that.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, swinging around so she could face him as she walked backwards down Madison, “it’s _definitely_ like that.”

* * *

It wasn’t as if Eddie _liked_ the coffee at Starbucks — if anything, the Americano he had that day was the worst he’d ever had. Call it morbid curiosity, or flat-out masochism, but he ended up at that very same store the next day, just as the morning rush began to quieten. 

“I knew it!” A voice crowed the moment Eddie stepped foot in the café. He didn’t even need to look up to know it was Richie. “One taste of Tozier is never enough, baby.”

“Serious question,” Eddie said, stalking up to the counter, “do you ever shut up?” Richie had barely opened his mouth when Eddie hastily added. “Don’t answer that.”

Richie was leaning over the counter, chin propped on his upturned hands. “You’re no fun,” he whined. It should be grossly unprofessional, the way Richie was talking to him, and Eddie had this horrible feeling that with anyone else it would be. But there was something so familiar to Richie that threw caution to the wind and made Eddie want to believe, at least for a minute, that sometimes the pieces of the universe fall in ways that shouldn’t work but ultimately do. 

It was a nice thought. Too bad Eddie didn’t live in a Meg Ryan movie.

“Large Americano, and try not to make it shit this time,” he said tersely, sliding a handful of bills across the counter. Richie’s face did something strange, a half-hearted twist, and Eddie tried not to feel disappointed that he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You know, it was Ben who made your coffee yesterday, so really you’re calling Ben’s coffee shit.” Richie spoke rapidly as he tapped Eddie’s order into the computer and snagged a fresh cup. His features had smoothed into something neutral, painfully so. “And that would break his heart, so you’re lucky he’s not in today to hear it. Besides, you can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig. No offense to pigs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes it does,” Richie argued, sliding the cup along the counter to the girl obviously eavesdropping. “Look, next time you’re in, let me make you something.”

Eddie frowned. “Next time?” It was a defense thing, not getting his hopes up, but the way Richie glanced over at him from under his eyelashes made his stomach flutter. 

“Yeah,” Richie said simply, the faintest spark of amusement lighting up his eyes, “next time.”

* * *

A routine was established, as Eddie was wont to do. He’d wake up at 6, spend half an hour on the treadmill, shower and dress, and go to work without coffee. Janet from Accounting clapped him on the back and told him she’d given up caffeine after being diagnosed with a heart murmur. Eddie smiled tightly and snuck out at 11 to meet Richie.

When he put it like that, it seemed more romantic than it was - but Eddie operated under the strict assumption that even if Richie was interested in him, it’d be a one-night thing only, and he wasn’t sure if he could deal with that. The problem was, as irritating as Richie was, he was also the easiest person to talk to, possibly even more than Bev. He found himself stopping at the Madison avenue Starbucks after work not to refuse Richie’s increasingly absurd drink recommendations, but to just sit near the counter and wait for Richie to finish his shift so they could linger by the armchairs and talk.

Richie, as it turned out, wasn’t intent on becoming the world’s most over-qualified barista; he was just about to complete his Masters in Chemistry at Colombia. “That stuff just makes sense to me,” he shrugged one evening, stirring the contents of his hot chocolate aimlessly. Eddie sat back in his chair and held his cup of tea tighter, just barely resisting the urge to grab Richie’s hand and trace the line of his knuckles.

If Eddie knew anything about romance, it was this: love hurt if you gave it enough space. Richie invited him back to his place and Eddie pulled back, shaking his head, making up some excuse about stats he had to review. He tried not to let the defeated slump of Richie’s shoulders get to him, but like most of the things Eddie attempted to avoid feeling, this one set up camp in his chest and refused to move on. It would be so easy to say yes, to spend the night with Richie and clear the tense fog between them — but Eddie wasn’t ready to leave this behind, sitting with Richie as the sun set, talking about everything and nothing.

Of course, Beverly had to disrupt Eddie’s carefully balanced life, once again.

“Kay and I broke up,” she said in lieu of a greeting when he picked up the phone. It was close to midnight and Eddie had spent the entire night with a nice bottle of chardonnay, watching a Netflix special Richie had recommended. He hit the spacebar on his laptop and scrambled upright on his bed.

“Are you okay?”

Bev was silent for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Things haven’t been working for a while, since I got the apprenticeship. I just —” she exhaled heavily and Eddie’s heart squeezed. “I just wish we’d sorted shit out before it went too far, you know?”

“I know,” Eddie said. “Do you want to come ‘round?”

“Not tonight. I’ve got a proposal to put together.”

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll take you out for coffee.”

Bev chuckled weakly. “Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to see Richie again.”

But Eddie wasn’t cowed. “I’m serious, Bev. Let me take you out some place nice. It doesn’t have to be Starbucks — you deserve better anyway.”

There was a soft sniffle over the line. “Thanks, Eddie,” she said, voice a touch thick. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Bev,” he replied gently. “I’ll see you then.”

She picked the Madison avenue Starbucks, because Beverly was nothing if not archingly perceptive, even when it would serve her better to not be. She accepted Eddie’s offer to pay for her drink — a mocha, simple and comforting - and saved them seats at the bar overlooking the street. When Eddie arrived with their drinks, a cautious ‘ _are you okay?’_ already forming on his lips, she took the lead.

“So, what’s your deal with Richie?”

Eddie carefully placed his Americano on the bar. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said neutrally, adjusting his collar. Bev scoffed.

“You’re just about as subtle as a cat in heat. It’s like Bill all over again.”

“Okay, no,” Eddie protested, “Bill was a — a passing interest. One that I told you in _total confidence_.” He feigned a sip of his coffee to dodge her gaze. “Anyway, there’s no deal. He’s a…” _A friend?_ In a manner of speaking, Eddie supposed Richie was a friend, albeit a newly acquainted one. The problem was that friends didn’t look at friends’ lips the way Richie did. Friends weren’t always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the tension between them to snap like an elastic band stretched just too far. “An associate.”

“An associate you want to impale you with his huge cock,” Bev said lightly. Further down the bar an elderly man frowned at her, and she smiled sweetly in return. Eddie ducked his head, ears burning, and waited until the man looked away. 

“I’m no psychiatrist,” he finally said, voice pitched low, “but why do I get the feeling you get so invested in other people’s relationships so you don’t have to think about your own?”

Bev’s grip on her cup tightened. “You’re right, Eddie. You’re no psychiatrist.” She took a tentative sip, slurping obnoxiously, and ignored Eddie’s glare. “Besides, I have eyes. And ears. Richie’s obviously into you and you’re into him. What’s with the pussyfooting?”

As caustic as he was with her, Beverly was still one of his best friends, and this _thing_ with Richie had been weighing on him for weeks now. He sighed, shuffling on his stool, and attempted to herd the chaotic flock of thoughts that took flight whenever Richie came to mind. “It’s like — have you ever heard of the Nash equilibrium?”

“Eddie, you know I went to college for fine arts.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Okay, smartass. The Nash equilibrium is this idea that someone can achieve the ideal outcome from their game by not changing their initial strategy. Like, imagine you’ve just been arrested for holding up a bank or something, and you and your accomplice are being interrogated separately. The police don’t have any evidence —”

“Hold up,” Bev interrupted, palm raised to Eddie’s frustrated face. “Why don’t they have evidence? Didn’t you just rob the place?”

“ _They don’t have evidence,_ ” Eddie reiterated, volume climbing, “because they just don’t, okay. So, the cops offer you the opportunity to rat out your partner in exchange for your freedom, and they give the same deal to your partner. If you both snitch, you’re both jailed for five years. If you both stay silent, you’re only jailed for a year. If you say something and they don’t, they’re jailed for ten years, and vice versa.”

“You know, when I asked about your feelings for Richie, I wasn’t after a lecture on game theory.” Bev licked a bit of froth from the side of her mug. “But go on.”

“So the issue is, you can’t talk to your partner, right? You don’t know what he’s going to do. The Nash equilibrium looks at this and says, ‘alright, so you’re both self-entitled douchebags, and you’re definitely going to betray each other, so fuck you’.” Eddie settled back, exhaling heavily. “And that’s it.”

Beverly blinked. “Uh,” she said, squinting at him, “I was following until the end there. How is that it?”

“Okay, let me put it like this.” Eddie grabbed her coffee, ignoring her mild protest, and placed it beside his own. “So let’s say your mocha decides to betray my Americano, because she knows he’s a selfish, emotionally distant asshole who only looks after himself and is immediately going to snitch on her. But, if the Americano changed his mind, it’d throw off the equilibrium, right? So it’s safer for the mocha to assume the Americano is going to continue being his wildly neurotic self because if she holds even a glimmer of hope that he’s changed, she’s screwed.” He hesitated, staring down at the two coffees, but the fact of the matter refused to stay unsaid. “I’m the Americano.”

“Jesus Christ, that was fucking dark, dude.” 

Eddie had always thought people were exaggerating when they said they’d felt their heart stop. In that moment, he knew exactly how real it was.

He swivelled on his stool in short, awkward movements until he was facing Richie. “Uh. Hi?”

Richie’s hands looked oddly shaky around the dish towel he was wringing. “You know, um, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me with that nerd shit.”

Eddie’s face fell. “Shit, Richie, I’m so —”

“It’s fine,” Richie blurted. “I was just going to say hey, see if you needed a refill. We can totally forget I was ever here. Like —” he made a trilling sound with his tongue and spun his fingers like a tape reversing. The burn in Eddie’s gut flared and ebbed, softening into something almost fond as he registered Richie’s slightly hysterical laughter. “ _Be kind, rewind_. Um. Hi, Bev, how’s it hanging?”

Bev took a moment to look between them, incredulous. “Un-fucking-believable,” she said, grabbing her bag and hopping down from the stool. Anxiety bubbled in Eddie’s throat as she made towards the door.

“Wait, Bev —!”

But she was gone, quickly blending in to the crowd outside, leaving Eddie alone with Richie, who looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. 

He’d never seen Richie nervous before. As soon as Eddie realised this, he knew he had to make it stop. 

“Richie, I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel weird or anything. I just — fuck, this is gonna sound so dumb.”

“I told you I dropped my name tag in a blender the first time we met,” Richie said weakly. “I’m pretty sure that reached the maximum dumb quota.”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb.” He inhaled evenly, a perfectly measured action, and caught Richie’s eye. “I’m kinda shit with relationships. I get way too attached way too early and — I don’t know, I don’t want to get into something with you that’s not gonna, you know, be anything. Because —” he broke off, his throat closing over. It was humiliating, sitting there with his stupid hang-ups spread across the bar like a magazine for Richie to flip through. If the old man sitting nearby had been scandalised before, he was surely ashamed on his behalf now.

But instead of doing the merciful thing and leaving, Richie sat down on Bev’s abandoned stool and took his hand. His palm was warm, a little clammy, and the best thing Eddie had ever held in his life. “Because you like me.”

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Richie echoed. Eddie cringed.

“I told you it was dumb. Just forget about it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Eddie’s heart stuttered twice in as many minutes, and he seriously thought he was going into cardiac arrest until he realised Richie was staring at him, waiting for an answer. “You...don’t want to,” he repeated slowly. 

The blush that had been steadily working its way up Richie’s neck broached his cheeks, turning his whole face red. “What if the mocha went into this whole bank heist thinking the Americano was a pretty cool dude, and never thought for a moment that he’d, you know, back out of whatever? What if he’s sitting in the interrogation room thinking the Americano hasn’t changed, because there was nothing to really change?”

“Richie —”

“Shut up, I’m flirting with you.” Richie paused. “Shit, did I say that out loud?”

“You did,” Eddie said, that terrible hope racing up his spine and down his limbs. His hand felt electric in Richie’s, two livewires crossing the great untameable nothingness, lighting up the manic grin spreading over Eddie’s face.

Richie, however, looked confused. “Are you having a stroke or something?”

It was such a non-sequitur, so absurdly Richie, that Eddie couldn’t help but surge across the divide and press his lips to Richie’s. It wasn’t a kiss so much as it was a moment of pure contact, skin against flaming skin, and for a terrifying second Richie didn’t even respond. But then, like the switch had finally been flicked for him too, Richie hummed with surprise and pressed closer. He broke off momentarily to readjust, his breath hot against Eddie’s cheek, and dove back in to lick further into his mouth.

For not being much of a kiss, it was rapidly turning into the best kiss Eddie had ever had. He could feel every line of Richie against him - the hand on his neck, the nose brushing against his, the tip of his boot nudging Eddie’s ankle - and it all sang, the good and the bad. Richie had closed his eyes but Eddie’s were wide open, unable to tear away from the tiny spray of freckles on Richie’s cheeks he could only see from this close.

When Richie broke off for a second time, Eddie chased him but was met with air. “Shit,” Richie breathed, “I wanna do that all fucking day, but I think my manager is about to shit her pants.”

The world around them rushed back into focus and Eddie jerked away. He didn’t let go of Richie’s hand, though. “She’s definitely going to kill you,” he said without even looking over at the counter. He couldn’t stop staring at Richie’s red-bitten lips and the day-old stubble that peppered his jaw, the way his body moved as he stood and leaned closer into Eddie’s space.

“I get off at four,” he said, sounding like a giddy teenager. 

It was infectious, the juvenile zeal that Richie had seeded deep in Eddie’s bones, and without thinking he replied, “Cool. I can get you off by five.”

Richie was briefly speechless, gaping at Eddie like he’d just answered all of life’s mysteries. Then, without warning, he pumped his fist in the air and whooped. “Eds got off with a good one!” he shouted, sending several pairs of curious and irritated eyes over to the bar. 

Eddie slapped his free hand against Richie’s chest and shushed him halfheartedly, still tripping over his own laughter. “You’re an idiot.”

Richie turned to him, beaming. “Oh yeah, baby,” he said, and patted Eddie on the cheek. “And now you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied, voice soft, “I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://honeyreynolds.tumblr.com)


End file.
